


This is Why Stiles Needs Chocolate

by Goldstone_Wolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Basically, Body Dysphoria, First Kiss is offscreen, Food mentions, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Menstrual Cycles, Midly Angsty, Not Trans Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things, Stiles gets a period, Stiles whump, Witches, a lot of it, and hot chocolate, at least it's mentioned, except they don't do anything, good ending, magic periods, no sterek until the end sorry, rated T for period discussion, while the sheriff is away the wolves can play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23741803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstone_Wolf/pseuds/Goldstone_Wolf
Summary: As he drives to the school, Derek cannot figure out for the life of him why Stiles called. He sounded like he was in pain?Of course, Derek won’t remain confused for long.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 4
Kudos: 116





	This is Why Stiles Needs Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> TWs in tags. Doing this to Stiles because Theo got hurt enough in “I Must Be Good For Something” and I have plans for Liam. Also, this is based off my own experiences of being a male/nonbinary person on his/their cycle. (Hi, I’m genderfluid, that’s why the pronouns are weird there; if you’re against that why are you reading this it’s Sterek fanfiction), so…yeah, Stiles is not going to have a fun time.  
> Now, into the fray!

_“Can you…can you just come pick me up? Please?”_

“Stiles, what happened?” He could hear choked gasps on the other side of the call. “Is this a panic attack?”

_“N-no.”_

“Are you hurt?”

Stiles sounded like he was on the verge of tears. _“I don’t—I don’t know, I just—you need to pick me up._ Please _, Derek.”_ Stiles almost seemed to be holding his breath, exhaling sharply. _“I just—I think I need to go to Deaton.”_

“I’m on my way.”

_“Thank you.”_ The call hung up, and he broke two or three traffic laws by speeding to the school. Thankfully, he didn’t hurt anyone and he wasn’t stopped.

When he pulled up, he expected chaos.

Instead, he found Stiles curled alone on the concrete with his stuff piled next to him, knees pulled to his chest.

“Get in the car.” Stiles reached for his stuff as Derek got out. “Just get in the car, Stiles!” Pushing Stiles’ stuff into the Camaro’s trunk, he shut the door for the obviously-pained teen and then got in. “Where does it hurt? What happened?”

Stiles, who was pressing a hand to his stomach, still curled up in pain, swallowed nervously. “There—there was a witch, yesterday. She threw some stuff at Scott, but I shoved him out of the way.”

“It’s not appendicitis?”

“No, it’s—” He cut off with a whimper as they drove, and Derek grabbed his hand. The black veins appeared, but he couldn’t pull any pain. “Scott already tried. It just—” His face twisted and he pushed his head back into the headrest, teeth gritted and squeezing Derek’s hand and his stomach. “It’s just all over, nonstop, and then it gets worse. Like someone has a knife.”

Derek didn’t think about how he had something to compare the two, only nodded and kept holding Stiles’ hand. “Hey, we’re almost there.” Stiles kept trying to breathe normally, chest heaving, and Derek thought he saw tears in the young man’s eyes. “Is it your stomach? Like, just your stomach?”

“No, my—my hips and back, too.” He squeezed Derek’s hand again. “Just—just constantly.”

They pulled up to Deaton’s clinic and Derek helped Stiles in the back entrance. “Who’s hurt?”

“Something’s wrong with Stiles.” The man frowned, and Derek continued, “Something magic. A witch threw some stuff on him and now his stomach hurts. I can’t pull any pain.”

“Set him down on the table.” Nodding, Derek scooped Stiles (who looked like he was about to pass out) on the table. Deaton hiked the young man’s shirt up, then pressed on his stomach as gently as possible. Stiles whimpered and grabbed Derek’s hand, squeezing his eyes shut even more, and Derek glanced down at him nervously.

“It’s okay, Stiles. Everything’s going to be fine—we’ll fix this. Anything?” He glanced at Deaton, who was frowning.

“Well, it’s not appendicitis. His organs seem to be perfectly fine, actually.” He grabbed something, then began spreading some sort of gel on Stiles’ stomach before pulling a machine over.

“Is that an ultrasound?” Stiles asked, his slightly delirious grin twisting into a grimace. He clawed for Derek’s hand when it fell from his grip. Derek took it in a second as Deaton guided something over his stomach. “Didn’t know…you thought I could be _pregnant._ ”

Deaton shrugged, still sliding the thing in his hand around and watching the screen. “That’s not something I’d rule out right now.”

Stiles glanced at Derek with horror and pure fear in his eyes.

~

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The ultrasound had lasted about thirty minutes. Nothing they gave Stiles helped—including anaesthetics, oxygen, even some pretty strong injected painkillers. Deaton said it was because of the magic, if it had been anything else they would have worked. Now, Derek and Stiles were in the Camaro and driving to the loft. It was the weekend, and Noah was gone on a trip until Monday. Every so often, Stiles would whimper and curl around himself. The first two times Derek asked, he didn’t get an answer.

This time, Stiles snapped, “ _No_ , Derek, I _don’t_. I’m stuck with you all weekend while we wait for _this_ ,” he gestured to himself and gasped in pain before continuing, “to wear off. My legs hurt, my stomach feels like my insides are being ripped apart and then out. Heck, my _knee_ hurts! That doesn’t even make sense!” Derek decided not to point out he _was_ talking about it. At least the young man was getting it out. “I want to scream and cry and sleep and I swear if you make one PMS joke, _I am going to kill you.”_ Derek snorted, earning him a vicious glare. “This isn’t funny! A witch cursed me to have a—to—”

“To have a period?” Stiles’ face flushed and he glanced out the window. “It could be worse.”

“Oh, really? How?”

“She could’ve cursed you to bleed, too.” Stiles’ eyes widened even more, and Derek reached over to touch him.

Immediately, Stiles flinched away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, I—” Stiles’ face flushed even more, all the way down his neck and to his ears, and he bit his lip. “If you do, I might end up kissing you.”

They pulled up to the loft, taking the elevator (during which Stiles mumbled about how he was never going to make a period joke again, listing off several reasons why, and how _wrong_ he felt). Derek guided him inside and onto the bed, chucking some clean clothes at him. “Change, I’ll get you something to eat.”

Staring at the sweatpants and hoodie, voice laced with pain, Stiles choked out, “You don’t have to—”

“I’m an Alpha. Alphas take care of their Pack, and _you’re_ Pack.” He could have sworn Stiles blushed. By then, however, he had left the room to give him some privacy. He’d read about trans people recently, something an Alpha from Los Angeles had suggested while recently passing through. He wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling that Stiles was feeling pretty dysphoric right about then.

When he came back with hot chocolate, some Ritz crackers (Stiles’ long list of reasons had included being nauseous, and he liked Ritz crackers), and a heating pad (Deaton’s suggestion), Stiles was lying on the bed. He was in the clothes Derek had given him, curled in a ball on his side and panting. “Hey.” He grimaced when his voice reached his ears. “Well, that sounded pathetic.”

“Come on, sit up. You need to eat.” Nodding, Stiles half-crawled over with a mumbled thanks while Derek got on the other side and scrolled through Netflix waiting for Stiles for a good fifteen minutes. They couldn’t do anything to stop it, whether magic or medicine. The spell was designed to last for three days, and last for three days it would. From the way the eighteen-year-old kept gasping and shifting, it hurt a lot. “Alright, get over here and pick a movie.”

Stiles blinked at him, at the way Derek was holding his arms open, and then went over. No one needed to know if, while they were watching, Stiles was settled into Derek’s side. No one needed to know if when there was a lot of pain and the heating pad wasn’t working, Derek absentmindedly rubbed Stiles’ stomach.

No one needed to know if they shared the bed that night.

Or if they did the next two nights.

Or if Stiles did eventually kiss Derek like he said he might, right after the Alpha had brought him some hot chocolate after the worst night of the spell.

Nope. None of it happened. And if while they were at the next Pack meeting, the pair seemed less like friends in how they sat so close and looked at the other…

Well, no one needed to know _that,_ either.

**Author's Note:**

> No, I don’t react like Stiles did, although I do remember two different times where it was so bad I could barely walk and I was pretty much writhing in pain. Anyways, to deal with my own issues, I’m going to read some fanfics. Feel free to comment, kudos, or whatever.  
> Now, into the fray once more!


End file.
